


Good things come in Small packages

by Puolukka



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puolukka/pseuds/Puolukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>De-anon kink meme. Alfred and Arthur are a thing, nonetheless they still have issues in their almost unbreakable relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good things come in Small packages

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from the Hetalia kink meme. The request was underline the body size difference between America and England, for this sake I altered America's height to 185 cm (6' 1").

_Morning._  
  
A soft light brushed his visage, caressing him like a doting mother would do with his beloved baby; greeting with its singular vigour, the sun kissed every nook and cranny of the room until even the night stand across the bed, which was the last object to be encased by the dim light, was blazing with life.  
  
He felt, before he saw, the heavy presence of Alfred hovering over his slim form, toned limbs pressing and enclosing him sloppily whilst honey blond locks tickled his cheek. He shifted slightly, seeking a gap where sneaking out from. However, any possible escape was short-lived as the male grunted; shifting back and bringing the imprisoned man with him, once again securing his steel grip to ensure he was there, right beside him.  
  
Said man, seized up as Alfred moved and adjusted both of them, groaning quietly seeing no alternative, but squeezing out in a nasty way. Scrolling his left arm from the death grip, his hand rested on the other's hip, stroking it softly for a second before capturing a patch of skin between his fingers: a first, weak pinch was delivered; whimpering noises cut through the silence. Giving time to the tall man to relax again, he twisted the tanned skin again. This time provoking a grumbling sound, very similar to an annoyed person when disturbed during important matters.  
  
Fed up with the ongoing scheme, Arthur changed strategy.  
  
In a swift move, his other, previously trapped, hand was now pressed on the man's belly. Using Alfred's breathing as reference, he counted down until four; the sleeping man inhaled a good amount of air as he started brushing his fingertips in an accurate pattern, tickling him expertly in the right point with the right pressure causing the desired effect. Giggling and thrashing, the male weakened his grip giving Arthur the opportunity to slip away, rolling until he felt his shoulder lingering above cold air.  
  
He sighed relieved, turning his head slightly checking if Alfred was either still sleeping or not; mumbling and snoring wafted from him, signaling he was, indeed, still wrapped up in his dreams. Arthur took his sweet time, showering and dressing up, then moved downstairs to make a hearty breakfast.  
  
The green-eyed blond hadn't a strong penchant in the cuisine art, yes he could cook a basic meal, but that was it. After putting on the kettle, he started cooking scattered egg and bacon, then proceeding to the sweet part of the meal: jam. In any other ordinary day he would hastily sort out crackers packages served with a glass of milk, but today he could manage something more appetizing to sate his body, and Alfred's.  
  
His American partner would be up any time now, and very much hungry, too.  
  
Still keeping an eye on the meal, he tiptoed towards the cherry-wood shelf wherein most cereal boxes and dainties were primly stocked. Unfortunately, its position was pretty high from the floor and only a well-stretched arm could reach it. Arthur, being quite the prideful Englishman, lifted up on his toes while extending his arm and, quite uselessly, wiggling his fingers. He did brush the wooden platform, but the box was pretty out of his reach as it rested in a far hidden corner.  
  
Grunting, he outstretched again, this time his biceps providing a good pushing, but it was too powerful as he fell forward, almost hitting the shelf itself. Promptly, an arm swept him off as he was again secured on two feet. Chuckles reverberated in his eardrum.  
  
"Yeah, chocolate cereals for me!"  
  
Alfred carried his prized pack to the squared table and fixed himself a cup of milk. The Brit watched him blearily until the munching noises recoiled him. He huffed, returning on his old task.  
  
"I certainly didn't need help, thank you very much, I would have managed it myself." his piercing voice was completely dismissed by the spectacled male, being engrossed in devouring his breakfast like a starving dog.  
  
"Sure thing, Artie-shortie." mumbled him between bites of fine jammed biscuits which previously were intended for Arthur.  
  
The latter flinched at the nickname, rumbling and hissing injuries towards the blue-eyed male currently gloating about his irking skills on his older companion. After a comfortable silence, Alfred sized the Englishman up, a frown crossing his face.  
  
He grinned. "How come you're still here, Art, are you skipping work?"  
  
The man in question frowned, fiddling with his cup of tea. "Today's Saturday, my day off. In fact, I reckon _you_ have work in the weekend, don't you Sherlock?"  
  
"Guilty as charged," he chirped. "I called in sick, I've still aftereffects of yesterday's ruckus."  
  
Arthur eyed him wryly, he knew all too well that it was a big, foolish lie and voiced as so. "I'm sure your lively attitude is a fair symptom of those 'aftereffects', mmh?"  
  
Blue eyes shone of mirth and naivety. "Yep."  
  
The joyful tone which followed the response said otherwise, but Arthur was too much used to the other's demeanors to care. Sipping peacefully his tea, the Brit was delighting himself observing the living beings outside the small window which faced out the garden. He watched carefully his precious flowers; deposing the empty cup in the sink, the Brit made a beeline towards the terrace.  
  
"I'm tending the flowers outside, if you need me." he stated matter-of-factly.  
  
Alfred watched the retreating figure idly, playing with the last biscuit which floated aimlessly in the milky sea. Getting up and washing the dirty dishes, then following outside his companion. The American wasn't fond of gardening, flowers were delicate living things and he was too 'rough' for them, as Arthur put it. He didn't mind, though. He preferred watching the smaller blond doting over them, ensuring a good day to his azaleas and petunias, looking over their growing phases.  
  
Moments like this were so endearing; when Arthur talked with one of his many floral species, chatting over the most mundane subjects. Alfred, from the sidelines, was patiently listening to their conversation, seeing them so enthusiastic over his ongoing project as to chime in up the discussion.  
  
"It's funny that you seem to love them more than me," he chuckled warmly, approaching the Brit and crouching down near the colorful flowers.  
  
"Hiya, chicks, how's going out here? I'm doing great, but you see my boyfriend fancy you gals more than me. That's totally good for me! I mean, you're really good chicks so. Anyway, hope you have some great time and let me know if I can water you up or somethin', I ain't say no to ladies." winking to add more effect, Alfred stood up turning his attention to the green-eyed male who huffed irritably at his antics.  
  
"You gotta admit it's totally true."  
  
"Whatever." spat Arthur.  
  
Despite all, he was pretty frustrated, yes he loved heartily his flowers and cared greatly for them, but he also loved Alfred. He knew the other was humoring him, but an implicit message covered his words. He feared the American felt neglected.  
  
Absorbed in his thoughts, the Brit went to pick up the plant food: it was packed in a very much large and heavy box in their basement, but he managed fairly good on his own. Alfred didn't share his opinion, thus snatching over the big sack and leaving an enraged Arthur behind.  
  
"I can do it just fine, Alfred! I've always did!" screeched him.  
  
The American waved at his statement. "Don't worry, Art. I know you skinny guys can manage just fine. Just thought to give you a hand, y'know, if it was too much for you."  
  
He snickered as Arthur threw profanities after him, pointing out how perfectly ordinary his body building was.  
  
The morning was spent tending cyclamens, hortensias and mums, between nasty remarks and constant teasing; they really did rise up a lively havoc in the garden.  


* * *

  
  
_Afternoon._  
  
The kitchen was relatively small, but big enough to host the two of them: sink, stove, fridge, freezer and hob; more than furnished, really. Lacking a dishwasher, they made up a timetable. Each week, one of them would take over the washing task, in return, the other would clean up most of the house's rooms. It was a hard job, but they enjoyed keeping each other company, reporting any wrong step - punished by enhancing chores.  
  
A wicked game, but enthralling nonetheless.  
  
As for mealtime, they had an unspoken rule in which Arthur would avoid it the best he could, while Alfred managed something for both. The Brit was aware of his poor cooking techniques, leaving the spectacled man doing most of their dishes, but he couldn't deny how fervent his desire to try was. So, from time to time, they would come up with a simple recipe in order to ensure he wasn't a utterly disastrous failure on the subject.  
  
"So, what exactly are we making?"  
  
Whistling blissfully, Alfred kept peeling a weird-shaped potato, grimacing at the slick substance his hands were covered in. The tuber would slip away from time to time, hence compelling in carefully holding the object.  
  
He smiled. "It's gonna be something big, Art! Did you remember that recipe we found a fortnight ago?" he didn't wait for the response since he was going on a one-sided track anyway " _Artichoke and Escargot over Linguini._ "  
  
The Brit perked up, gaping at the name. "Are you serious!?"  
  
"No way," he laughed it off "I'm not gonna eat snails, not now nor ever."  
  
A dry smack was delivered, eliciting a chocked sound mixed with guffaws. "Stop playing around, I honestly want to make something edible for once."  
  
The American flashed an apologetic smile, wrapping smoothly an arm around the slim figure. "I know, that's why I thought we should go little by little. No rush getting to the hard ones. You wanna learn to cook, but I think cooking isn't only being able to make flashy-looking dishes."  
  
Despite all, Arthur agreed with him, _mutely_ agreed. As he chopped lettuce leaves without a care in the world, blue eyes watched him. After all, the taller blond was in charge to look over them both, ensuring no harm was involved in their trivial session, as well as backfired lunch. The Brit was doing great for now, aside (several) mishaps, but that happened all the time. He was quite absent-minded as a whirlwind of thoughts pursued him. Unfocused green eyes following his skilled hands during their cutting task. Alfred moved in a flash, retrieving the knife, yanking it harshly from the other's.  
  
"Lemme do it," taking his place, the dirty blond male washed and put the lettuce in a bowl. Arthur was more pensive than usual. They have been together for years now and Alfred could detect whatever flickered in the his partner's mind with a quick glance. He was an open book by now.  
  
"Art, stop spacing out, that's why you suck at cooking!" he chided.  
  
The Brit recoiled abruptly, wincing slightly at the swallow cut caused by his carelessness.  
  
"I'm sorry, Al. I mulled over a bit too much, I suppose." grabbing a strap of paper - sloppily wetted - he nursed his wound.  
  
"That's okay, just pay attention when cooking. I shouldn't be the one saying it, y'know?" he humored, pointing out it was usually Arthur's job scolding him for his carefree attitude.  
  
It seemed his little attempt on breaking the tension did work, lifting slightly the Englishman morale as he nodded, actually performing his duties thoroughly. They managed to make a profusely good meal in about an hour and half of deep training.  
  
The lunch was spent with pleasant short conversation, filling those quiet voids which happened to break off every now and then. Near the end, Alfred expressed his desire for something refreshing, so they agreed on a quick outing for supplying benefit.  
  
Being spring, the air was still a bit cold, but bearable nevertheless. They lived in a residential zone, far away form the downtown. However, it was a nice place to spend quality time with families and relatives. In this case, there were only the two of them, plus a puppy, living in a cosy house located in a very welcoming neighbourhood.  
  
Actually, Alfred was dragging Arthur around the park, literally. After dropping by the taller male's favourite candy store, purchasing gelato would have been the next stop. As they strolled along the crowded broadway, a young pretty girl tapped the Brit's shoulder which effectively gained his attention.  
  
"Excuse me, sir. Are you that sponsor model in the newest magazine, perchance?" She asked sweetly.  
  
Arthur was taken aback from the sudden question. The girl seemed bashful and embarrassed for being straight-forward in her politeness.  
  
"Well- I, that's- I'm not a model, but I did pose for several photos upon request from an old friend of mine. I didn't know he would actually publish them!" the Brit remembered applying for a quick shoot, bribed by Francis's persuasive speech.  
  
Uncomfortable, the girl started fidgeting, catching the heavy mood surrounding them. Arthur was oh so going to sue that bearded Frenchman, he specifically demanded that those snaps would remain private. Instead, Francis printed a nice view of his body onto million of public magazines.  
  
Alfred intruded sharply, shaking him off his trance. "That's right, miss!"  
  
She smiled warmly, kindly chatting over how she recognised the smaller blond, although never meeting face to face. She seemed pleased to have a small talk with strangers. On the other hand, Arthur was being reserved and evasive, as if he felt awkward talking with a "fan".  
  
They found out that the photos were actually quite good and chaste, so to speak. There was no clear evidence of the blond male's visage, but if one squinted well he could envision several peculiar traits. Francis did a very great and accurate job, ignoring the fact he did use them without his permission, but they have been friends since high school. He should have seen it coming.  
  
Still, the Brit looked unsure. Alfred could tell from his sheepish stance, downward gazing and constant itching twitch. He was distressed, almost skittish. Arthur had been always a self-conscious person, leading to few quarrels in the past as the American would convince him on his common physical constitution. Indeed, their different features had been a taboo topic for years in the past.  
  
Eventually they parted, bidding goodbye one another with the promise to keep in touch for a friendly dinner in the foreseeable future. They went on their original pattern, stopping by to buy gelato and wandering around the park for a good hour.  
  
While silently enjoying their walking down the path, the spectacled male found himself blurting out. "Y'know what? You're just fine."  
  
Arthur stilled, searching for the other's gaze intent on inquisitively stare the passersby.  
  
"Just fine?" inquired him.  
  
"Yep, just fine!" he confirmed positive. "In a world full of expectations and high achievements, it's seldom finding something just fine, don't you think?"  
  
There was a short silence and then plangent laughters reached Alfred expectant persona; Arthur puzzlement soon evolved in a fit of uncontrollable guffaws, the hilarity of the statement hit him like a cold gust in a warm evening. He bent down desperately looking for a foothold as he kept laughing relentlessly. On the other hand, a strained smile spread over Alfred as he tried to contain himself as well, but failing miserably and joining his companion.  
  
"You know what? Complimenting isn't, _by all means_ , your forte." choked out Arthur.  
  
Feigning offense, he whined "You wound me, Art!"  
  
The smaller chuckled. However, a yelp left his lips as the ground underneath him suddenly flipped over. Alfred scooped him up, holding the Brit like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder. Arthur wriggled hopelessly, squirming and scolding the taller man to release him, which happily complied soon after a quick sprint, earning a few glances from several bystanders.  
  
"Your weight is the same as a leaf!" he exclaimed whilst placing him down clumsily.  
  
He defended. "Shut up! I'm just fine!"  
  
A bemused grin crept over the American. "That's right, and I love you just fine!"  
   
They headed back home blissfully, not before taking a break at the teahouse, much to Arthur's enjoyment.  


* * *

  
  
_Evening - plus Night_  
  
Arthur and Alfred had a humdrum mundane routine, which involved the two of them bickering about an interchangeable range of things, from the silliest ones like a dirty glass left on the table all night due to Alfred's thoughtlessness and papers scattered around the floor for the Brit's out-of-hand fury upon stressful situations to preposterous shenanigans regarding different kinds of objects and either one of the two, occasionally both, in a boorish stance.  
  
Truthfully, the latter happened, mostly, after reckless outings or family gatherings.  
  
Nevertheless, they had a peaceful steady living instance. Aside the aforementioned contexts, complains and expostulating were seldom and far away between. In part, it was Alfred's inclination to behave extremely gullible - although his cunning side was very efficient in need - and devote towards anyone. He liked to play along with neighbours' kids, challenging them and losing splendidly - again, unfounded clues claimed it may be a well-done charade.  
  
Arthur, instead, preferred to play the maleficent villain as Alfred stated it charmingly suited him. Indeed, his role was bugging the daylight out of spiteful individuals - nary a hint of mischievousness in it. He used to play his electric bass in the garage, nagging the stoic chap next door who had been bemoaning about uncivilized and disrespectful ethics from their part; evoking Arthur's naughty essence, hence kindly pissing him off in dicey ways.  
  
Anyhow, if their outside reputation was greatly cherished, when between the four walls they were as any ordinary couple, composed of pros and cons; actually a lot of cons, labelling them as quite the extravagant pairing.  
  
Being around each other for years deepen thoroughly their bodies ken, for instance, Alfred was extremely ticklish for even a puff of air near his sensitive zone would trigger off his alarms. Instead, Arthur had less soft spots, sparing him from the American sneaking onslaughts. Although after relentless research, the taller male individuated his weakness points, located in safe areas arduous to reach for amateur hands - by no means this was applied on Alfred.  
  
The general picture was arrayed as followed: a sleeping Englishman, sprawled over the soft, beige sofa in the living room - equipped with a rim of saliva dripping from his mouth's corner - and an average American male fake-struggling with a mongrel puppy, Woolflock, near the foot of said couch.  
  
Sensing it was the right moment, Alfred's hand sneaked nigh the smaller's cotton-covered dangling foot, a pair of low-cut socks wrinkled near his ankle: the perfect chance. He darted forward monitoring his motions, lest getting caught for his recklessness - notwithstanding that the victim was fast asleep - and pressing his fingertips in the malleolus area, more specifically underneath it. Arthur didn't react immediately, pursuing his peaceful nap unaware of the taller's sully projects. The latter was mercilessly nagging the tender zone, craving some sort of response from the other who gradually stirred in his stance, wriggling his toes and torso.  
  
Whimpering, the Brit covered his green eyes with the free limb while the other was haphazardly settled on his tummy, assuming a defence-like position. Alfred noticed his formation change, internally cheering for his accomplishment. Nevertheless, he wasn't fulfilled yet; his objective was reduce Arthur in a shabby mess through relentless tainting deeds. Holding steady his foot he started harassing the above-mentioned spot without missing a beat.  
  
This time the so desired reaction came all force for Alfred found himself knocked down by a fleeting kick, deliberately stirred up from the now fully conscious straw blond male. Giggling, not after choking out a bit from the harsh treatment, he shifted his weight onwards resuming his original, sitting position.  
  
"Freddie, knock it off." slurred Arthur as he turned over facing the lounge's cushions while huddling himself up.  
  
Said male crept over the laying figure, hopping and crawling over him; humming a mellow tone he bent forward searching for the smaller's eyes. "Come on, Artie! Don't hide yourself like an armadillo!"  
  
The Englishman mumbled intangible words, something along the line 'do me a favour, piss off' as his limbs tighten up to protect the source from potential assaults. On normal circumstances, Alfred would have given in and retreated in the kitchen to go through leftovers or sweets - usually that bottomless pit of Alfred's demanded a full-course in order to subside -, though seldom happened that the Brit lowered his guard this far, almost nil.  
  
Sneaking his big hand underneath the still form, he leveraged hid strength to unwillingly roll him over; constraining his front limbs in a strict grip, Alfred used his advantage to impose on the smaller. His warm breathe tickled the British smooth skin whose throat clenched in a firm grasp the windpipe, making it hard to even form rational thoughts.  
  
" _Alfred Jones_ , release me this instant." he growled while thrashing around in order to weaken the other.  
  
The American's grin widened seeing the futile expedients the smaller put on. "No way, _Arthur Kirkland._ "  
  
Then his mouth met the porcelain derma, blowing on it with short puffs which pinched the tender part like needlepoints. Breathing system on berserk, the Englishman froze up as if his body had turned into a waxwork, melting his frame and soul in an ablution of lava. As his brain processed the ongoing process, Alfred brushed his lips on top of the collarbone, producing jeering sound which resounded throughout his neck and shoulder.  
  
Guaffaws noises clashed against the thick walls, echoing them around the house. It was a hysterical kind of laughters for Arthur couldn't contain himself when those certain parts were spurred. The hitherto enthralled American increased consistently the upbeat pace, subsequently increasing the Brit's voice volume.  
  
"Fred, Fred! Stop, now!" he all but shouted as his patience was running thin, but the restraints prevent him to fierily counterattack.  
  
Alfred only snickered while stalling the British legs with his own, lest being once again kicked off the couch. "So skinny, dude. You're totally gonna fade off from the earth!"  
  
"Shut your trap! I'm not going to be lectured by an unhealthy-eating brute like you!"  
  
The spectacled blond enclosed their lips in a brief kiss and by the time he pulled back the Brit flinched forward in another peck, managing to wriggle free of the restrainments while simultaneously, with his sneak move, catching Alfred by surprise. The latter, still puzzled, in vain withdrew, only to be barraged with a stream of pinch, all designed to aim at his tummy as it was the most vulnerable part of his body.  
  
The taller's response was an endless succession of giggles and whines, topped with desultory cackles. "Shi-, Art wait!"  
  
Obviously Arthur willingly ignored the other's protests, flaunting his presently hegemony over him in the form of skin teasing handling. Alfred's entreaties were left hanging on thin air. Nevertheless, he was a man of fewer words and more acts, thus forcing his imposing figure over the smaller male who ended up again slammed against the soft fabric of the lounge and wrapped in bone-crashing embrace.  
  
The Brit squawked. "What the hell!?"  
  
"Did you lose weight, perchance?" snickered the spectacled honey blond while shifting in a more comfortable position still holding the smaller in his arms.  
  
A dry 'no' followed by a huffing sound and several feathery movement underneath him. Now face to face, Arthur in his resigned mood decided to attempt with the reasonable way, namely talk it through.  
  
He blankly asked. "So, now what?"  
  
"I'm bored, what about a movie?"  
  
The English male sighed. "Sure, why not?"  
  
"Up to you, man." came the cheerful response. He was thoroughly keen about films, thus establishing a movie night during ordinarily dull days - sometimes even whole weeks - for lighten up the stuffy ambient a bit. The green-eyed man wasn't against a good night spent watching fake-like realities, in fact he quite revelled in it.  
  
"Bridget Jones." he stated immediately.  
  
A short silence dropped by, before it was broken by Alfred's foolish complains which resulted in a heated diatribe wherein Arthur's argument  opportunely won ("Bullshit Fred, you fucking love it. Indeed, you even started calling me 'my grumpy Mark Darcy' for a month!").  
  
So, arguments aside, they peacefully watched Bridget Jones's Diary with a stoic Englishman dwelling on the lounge for the taller claimed short folks like him should sit there, whereas the latter was vividly captured by the movie in his crouching stance on the floor - Woolflock at hand.  
  
As the fighting scene popped in, the American literally bounced on his toes hissing whoops while prodding the smaller to follow suit. However, the lack of response baffled him as he turned around to find a fast asleep Englishman. Tittering lightly, Alfred switched off the telly and effortlessly carried the male in their shared bedroom, placing him on the bed as he fiddled with his nightly routine in the bathroom before joining Arthur.  
  
"You're an arsehole." grumbled the latter.  
  
Blue eyes sparkled with malice. "Yes, I am," wrapping the smaller in a loose embrace he added "And you're a jackass."  
  
In the night's quiet, it came so natural to spill one's confidential issues for a one-sided confession in which only the moon could witness. "You're too short," carried on Alfred, spurred by the sweet silence "Too stodgy and too skinny for your own good" he then paused, mulling over his next sentence. "Also too stubborn."  
  
Steady breathes filled the void in the room as Morpheus had enveloped the still from of Arthur in tight dreams. With a last effort before being enclosed in the dream land as well, encouraged and lulled by the British vulnerability, he sighed "Too good." 


End file.
